DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
Gods indeed; and he attempted to have the wounds dissipate, the bloodied, broken contempt claw its way out of his threshold, but it remained hostile and feral. Not to anyone in particular; lodged and locked under the surface of his skin, lurking in and amongst flesh and bone. Maybe it was merely a route of all his grief, tied and tethered, knotted and gnarled, disturbed and distraught that he could do nothing. That after becoming strong enough to defend people and portions, it really hadn’t mattered – they went off into the ether, and never came back. Where the worlds he could break apart now? Where were the souls to blame? Where and when did anything become fair or right, justice dignified? Nowhere seemed to be the answer – and he yearned to render that into pieces too.
Zuriel knew better than to weave her way into his wrath; could feel it pulsing between bonds, and likely the unicorn didn’t know how to alleviate the frustrations, the helplessness, or the rancor either. So it simmered – and he held a breath when Astra reached for him, scratching at ears again, attempting to fuse himself back into something less monstrous.
The fragments of glimmer ahead still didn’t seem to find his mind or machinations, too drawn on his own seditious inquiries, on Hotaru and her whereabouts. Despondent, inconsolable; all understandable. Perhaps she’d gone to Sunjata and Nate. Perhaps she’d vanished. Perhaps she was done with the entire charade. He couldn’t blame her. I have not heard from her at all. Another loss amongst the brewing, brooding whims of many; hit after hit after hit, barrage after barrage after barrage. Maybe it was a wonder he stood upright at all.
Zuriel knew better than to weave her way into his wrath; could feel it pulsing between bonds, and likely the unicorn didn’t know how to alleviate the frustrations, the helplessness, or the rancor either. So it simmered – and he held a breath when Astra reached for him, scratching at ears again, attempting to fuse himself back into something less monstrous.
The fragments of glimmer ahead still didn’t seem to find his mind or machinations, too drawn on his own seditious inquiries, on Hotaru and her whereabouts. Despondent, inconsolable; all understandable. Perhaps she’d gone to Sunjata and Nate. Perhaps she’d vanished. Perhaps she was done with the entire charade. He couldn’t blame her. I have not heard from her at all. Another loss amongst the brewing, brooding whims of many; hit after hit after hit, barrage after barrage after barrage. Maybe it was a wonder he stood upright at all.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
